


Written in the Stars

by Ansomniac



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Angst, Apocalypse, Bittersweet Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Mutual Pining, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, only referenced
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 21:31:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18747511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ansomniac/pseuds/Ansomniac
Summary: Arthur Kirkland, an English aspiring author who moved overseas to the States, had gotten used to always being alone. Now that the world was going to end in no more than year, he found that he couldn't care about it. Not at all.That is, until he met Alfred F. Jones, a scientist with a hero complex and a desire to save the world. They are the only ones left around that haven't gone underground to hide from the meteor, and Alfred worked alone with the dreams of becoming a hero.Even with the threat of impending doom in only twelve months, they would find love and trust in each other. They've felt the least alone by themselves than they did surrounded by seven billion people on Earth. They would come to learn that they have never been alone.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aphenglandstan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphenglandstan/gifts).



> I split this up because I just... wrote it in a way that it ended like that, weirdly enough.
> 
> Anyway, this is a slice of life... ish? I didn't mean for it to be like that, but guess it did! Enjoy happy moments hindered only by the threat of doom and limited time. This is a gift for my friend Parker, one of my favorite people on the entire world! I was scared of misrepresenting you, but I hope I wrote true.
> 
> Anyways, please enjoy. Thank you! <3

“This is the way the world ends

Not with a bang but a whimper.”

― **T.S. Eliot**

 

**One Year Before The End - April 20, 2XX9**

“ _In only one year—_ ” the newscaster began. They paused, took a deep breath. “ _—in one year, the world will cease to exist_.”

Arthur stared at the television screen, unmoving. His face didn’t shift as he stroked his cat. Buttercup meowed, disinterested in the reporter’s breakdown, and turned away from the noise.

He merely flicked the television off.

So that was it—the world was going to end. No fanfare, no mourning—just a silent death for everyone in this godforsaken world. It wasn’t nuclear warfare, strange aliens, or even the dinosaurs coming back to life to end human civilization as they knew it.

It was a boring meteor.

He yawned, glancing over to the window outside. He thought it funny, how the sky appeared blue and clear and pure. It was as if the world outside remained undisturbed, even with the knowledge of its untimely death.

Arthur related.

What would he do with the last of his days, anyway? Visit his brothers in England? He couldn’t possibly; they wouldn’t want him home. At least here in his home he was wanted by his cat, as lonely as that sounded. There was nothing for him left there.

Arthur was a lonely man; he lived by himself and had very few friends—only distant colleagues who invited him to coffee out of courtesy rather than interest. Sure, there were interesting people, including an enthusiastic Spaniard, a Frenchman who sought to make his life miserable, a few Germans, Italians, and even some Asians. Arthur didn't talk to them, though, and didn't mind letting it stay that way, either. He was in the company of Buttercup and a lovely book; he couldn’t ask for more.

The birds sang outside his window, innocent.

“We’re going out, Buttercup,” Arthur said to the black cat, who only stared up to him blankly. He picked her up.

  


He blinked at the scenery outside.

It was eerily silent, especially for news that had only been broadcasted recently. The houses looked like toys deprived of the characters that came with them—lonely.  It’s as if everyone had up and went somewhere with no preparation, no further goodbyes. Distantly, he could even hear running water—like the ones from hoses—but no one was around. Have they even left _those_ behind without turning them off?

Arthur had no complaints, though; he could drive on the roads without having to honk at unruly drivers or grandmas.

He started up the car and adjusted his mirror, blinking when he saw his green eyes staring back at him. _Why do you want to go outside?_ Those eyes asked him. Truthfully, Arthur didn’t know  himself; maybe it was because of the soft breeze or that he’s going insane, but he found his hands steering the car to the local park and his legs moving towards the swings.

He was definitely, definitely insane. At least, Buttercup was looking at him like that and meowed.

“Don’t give me that,” Arthur scoffed and scratched behind its ear to appease it before sinking into his own thoughts.

Like the rest of the world, the playground remained undisturbed. He had faint memories of childish laughter and raucous screams on this very spot, as well as good and bad memories of his childhood. He had come to the Americas at a young age alone with his father, and well, he wasn’t around that often to supervise the boy. The playground wasn’t merciful, either; no one came back home to their parents without at least a bruise.

Today, it was peaceful. Empty.

Yet Arthur came to a disconcerting conclusion: _he didn’t feel anything._

At the same time he had that revelation, his cat bounced off his lap and hastened away from the park. He shot up from his seat and yelled, “Wait!”

Buttercup didn’t slow down; she continued down the street with Arthur hot on her heels. He missed his more athletic youth, but his sedentary life as an aspiring writer deprived him of his much needed exercise. Despite his rusty feet, he was able to see her turn around, disappearing into a building. At that, he stopped in his tracks to survey the structure.

It was a white building, although its glasses have been broken, standing eerily quiet like its neighbors. It was rather unimposing compared to the rest, although even the entrance smelled of clorox as if the lobby had been thoroughly cleaned today.

It was empty anyway—as far as he could see. He’ll just take his cat and go, rush out as quickly as he could. No harm, right?

_Christ._

“Buttercup!” he called as he opened the door, to no response. He opened his mouth to call for his cat again, but her name is lost in his throat as he gazed at the scenery in front of him.

Papers scattered on the floor, paintings askew and tipped-over furniture. The lights were still open, flickering as it illuminated the area. A whirring noise came from somewhere. Arthur didn’t know where.

_And what was that awful smell?_

He shook his head. He had to get out of here as soon as possible; Buttercup was still missing and he had to find her. He couldn’t just leave her here.

He wandered down the hallway. The building seemed to be an office; most rooms were in the same condition as the lobby, although he found some of the rooms locked shut with a heavy metal door. Classified—dangerous, perhaps? A curious case.

_Meow._

Arthur whirled around, trying to locate the noise. “Buttercup?” he said uncertainly. A meow followed it. _Just down the hallway and to that room,_ he realized. He more than happily hastened over, ready to leave the place as soon as possible.

However, the sight of a metal, nearly-impenetrable door open left ajar stopped him him in his tracks. The door yawned wide enough for a cat to sneak inside.

_Either my cat is smarter than me, or…_ he peered at the opening through the door. _There’s someone else._

Silence mingled in the air, undisturbed. Yet, Arthur couldn’t hear his wild heart over his harsh breathing.

His fingers twitched over the handle.

_Don’t be a coward, Arthur. Stop running away from your problems, like you always have._

Slowly, he pushed.

He didn’t know what to expect—it would have made sense if he found a man in a business suit, someone normal. Maybe even someone like himself who found themselves lost inside the building. Hell, there could be no one at all on the other side.

Arthur blinked.

Standing in front of him, cat cradled in their arms, was a white-coated, blond boy with eyes as blue as the sky outside—as innocent, as ignorant, as unknowing of the world’s demise.

Beautiful.

“Wow,” the man said, as if he found the answer to life. “Someone else.”

Arthur stood speechless, opening and closing his mouth several times. He was never good around good-looking people, especially if they appeared during an apocalypse where they’re the only ones left. He did, however, manage a response before it got too awkward: “That—that cat.”

The man blinked, glanced at the black cat snuggling up to him, and laughed. “Oh, this little guy? I think he likes me!”

“It’s a girl, you prick,” Arthur snapped at once, although he blinked in spite of himself. His defense mechanism was kicking in again. He marched over to take his cat.

“Oh! Sorry.” The blond gave him a sheepish smile and handed over the cat, who glared at Arthur as he gave her back. “I’m not very good with telling, uh, cats. She's beautiful.” He glanced from the cat to Arthur. “What’s your name?”

_I shouldn’t have snapped at him_ , Arthur thought as he took his cat, sighing. Buttercup seemed reluctant to return, but she settled down and leaned into his touch. “Arthur Kirkland,” he answered.

The man extended him a hand. “Great! Nice to meet you, Arthur Kirkland—I’m Alfred F. Jones,” he gives a smile, “and welcome to the apocalypse!”

It was at this point that the fact that the world is ending in no less than twelve months only hit him.

The world was ending.

 


	2. The Beginning of the End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dividers indicate a jump in time or bits of dialogue throughout! Each set of dialogue indicates one month has passed.
> 
> P.S. Sorry for some wack formatting, the transfer from Google Docs to AO3 has been hard on this fic.

 

“I am happiest now. There’s nothing like running out of time to make you realize you’re in the right skin, with the right person, and that the Apocalypse will happen with or without you.”

― **Howard Jacobson**

 

**One Year Before The End - April 20, 2XX9**

“Welcome to the apocalypse!”

The world was ending. Arthur didn’t care. At least, he didn’t think he did.

In front of him was the extended hand of a gorgeous stranger who had kidnapped his cat earlier, a blue-eyed, blond man in a lab coat. A scientist, he assumed—working?—even as the world was about to end in flames.

Arthur glanced at the man looking at him expectantly, as if pleading with his eyes to take his hand. He gave in and took it within his own, causing the man to beam. Yet, Arthur continued staring at him; if it were anyone else, they would be offended by all his ogling. Not Alfred Jones, though.

“I know your name is Alfred F. Jones, but—” he gave him a once-over, “—who really _are_ you?”

His mouth snapped shut at the curtness of his tone—damn him and his bluntness—but Alfred barked out a laugh. He pressed Arthur’s hand firmly before they withdrew. “Well, uh, I’m a scientist!” He puffed his chest proudly. “A scientist who’s going to save the world.”

“Save the—” Arthur spluttered. “Save the world?”

 _Is this idiot really thinking he could save the entire world?_ He thought as he frowned. _He’s just one man! If governments all around the world are hopeless and don’t know what to do, what can he do? What’s so special about him, other than stunningly good looks? Ego?_

Yes, he certainly had that going for him, at least.

“Well, yeah,” Alfred said as if that was obvious. “My team was the one who found the meteor this morning, actually!”

“And where are they?”

An oppressive silence descended upon them.

“That’s . . . yeah, they ran away. Dunno where. Somewhere.” To their families. To people they need to be with as their days are numbered.

Which meant . . .

“Well, _anyway,_ ” the American continued with a cough under his breath, “I hung back to do my part and save the world, of course.”

 _You don’t have a family of your own to go back to?_ Arthur didn’t say. _Or maybe you don’t want to?_ He knew what that was like, himself.

He had forgotten he'd been holding Buttercup, who then leaped out of his hold and leisurely trotted around the laboratory. This prompted Arthur to turn away from Alfred and to look at the room as he glanced away. Although a mess with its haphazardly-placed glass tubes, papers and other such equipment, he could see the American’s efforts to fix up the place, which was definitely trashed before Arthur arrived. Still, it was relatively clean, the air clinical and the room cool.

He turned back to Alfred, wearing a grin as if proud to show him his messy workplace. “Do you like what you see?”  
“Quite disorganized,” Arthur deadpanned. “But it does look like you’ve been working hard.”

“Boy, am I!”

At that, the Brit quirked a smile. He may be loud and somewhat obnoxious, a typical characteristic of all Americans, but Alfred was interesting. Well, at this point, almost anyone was; they were the only two around, as far as Arthur knew. If he wanted human interaction, this was where it began and where it ended.

Arthur jolted at the realization.

After this, he had nowhere else to go to but home. He would crash into his house and into his bed and probably never leave. Hell, he might even end his misery because the meteor was being too damn slow.

Waiting for your death, knowing it’s coming, and being alone . . .

He looked towards the scientist.

“Say,” Arthur began carefully. “Would you mind it terribly if I . . . stayed around here? I won’t bother you; I’ll just watch.”

He expected a swift refusal, or even an apologetic one. Alfred _did_ have an important cause, although futile in Arthur’s opinion, and he might be too busy to even entertain the British man. His very presence could distract the scientist.

Yet the shine in Alfred’s eyes and his widening smile made Arthur do a double-take. “You . . . you would want to?” the blue-eyed blond nodded vigorously. “Oh my God, yes! I would go crazy if I stayed here by myself. Pull up a chair!”

Arthur rarely smiled, but then again, rarely anything went his way. The enthusiastic reply was more than he could hope for.

 

**════ ⋆★⋆ ════**

 

 

**One Year Before The End - April 27, 2XX9**

Several days passed. They settled into a routine.

Arthur would wake up, take a shower, and eat food with one of the food cans he snatched from an empty store nearby. He would then dress up and headed out, making a beeline to the white building. Alfred would already be there in his white coat, bright in disposition as always—although the eye-bags weren’t very convincing.

There was no rhyme or reason to their conversations. Strangely, _Alfred_ was the one to initiate them, even though he was the person searching for a way to save Earth. He would ask trivial questions like “how many siblings do you have?” (four) or “what’s your favorite color?” (green). Arthur answered, although slightly snarkily, and that seemed to cheer the scientist up.

Most of the time, Arthur didn't have anything to do around the laboratory; he would mindlessly chat with Alfred, pick at his nails, or maybe push some glass containers around, although he wasn’t fond of disturbing them.

Still, he wasn’t _that_ bored; he carried books of varying genres to the lab, from elusive mysteries to sappy romance fiction. It wasn’t that different from what he did before. If he got tired of reading, he could watch the American at work, eyebrows knitted as he poured over his data. Arthur’s fingers itched to trace the lines of Alfred’s face, to touch—

Ugh, what was he, a pubescent teenage girl? _Don’t think like that,_ he berated himself. _He has better things to do than engage in... amorous activities._

Why did Arthur even . . . like Alfred? Was it because of his good looks? No—that couldn't be. If it were based purely on that, he would’ve fallen for so many more in the past. Yet, something about Alfred appealed to Arthur’s tastes, if not the American friendliness or the handsome smile.

Perhaps it was just the way he could watch the scientist work from the background, see the person behind pretenses and etiquette; when he was alone, he was not Alfred, but rather Alfred F. Jones, quietly devoted in his research and intensely focused. He bustled nonstop, and only took a few breaks when Arthur yelled at him. He usually fainted, faceplant on the desk as he toiled.

As if on cue, Alfred looked up from his work and grinned at Arthur. The Brit only barely managed to catch the glass he tipped over.

_Christ._

“Are you okay, Artie? You keep staring at me. Well, more than usual,” Alfred noted as Arthur hastily put the glass container back on the counter. “If you’re not feeling well, you should go home! I ain’t asking you to stick around if you don’t wanna, you know.”

Alfred was undoubtedly smart, if his profession and work was anything to go by, but he was _oblivious._ What a nice and frustrating trait to have. If he had half a brain cell for romance, he’d know the reason.

“I’m fine,” Arthur said, waving him away. He cast a glance. “I’m more curious, actually, as to why you haven’t returned to your family. Or is finding a way to save Earth mean more to you?”

Maybe he shouldn’t have added that last part; the words tasted bitter on his own tongue. Alfred abruptly stilled and gave Arthur a smile. It was different from his usual ones in the way his eyes didn’t join, almost glassy. Alfred brushed his cowlick back and looked away.

“I’m not sure how much you want to know about a stranger but, long story short, I had a falling out with my parents when I was a teenager,” Alfred said, after a moment. “A bit of a few troubles at home, what with divorce issues and all . . . I only keep in contact with my half-brother, Matthew, whom I’ve told you about.

“Well, it’s all in the past. Now that it’s all over, I can just focus on my work!” Alfred then cracked a grin, more reminiscent of his usual ones. Arthur wasn’t sure if that was meant to comfort him or if it was Alfred’s way of reassuring himself.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur murmured, unable to look him in the eye. What could he say to that? He had his own share of family troubles, too, but—not like Alfred would care. Alfred was just explaining something to him, not venting. He didn’t need advice or comfort.

The veil of moodiness in the air, however, lifted with the laugh of Alfred F. Jones. “Don’t be, Artie.” He winked. “I at least have you with me. We’re going to save the world—together!”

Arthur tried hard not to blush. He failed.

**════ ⋆★⋆ ════**

 

“Say, Artie, have you ever thought of—”

“Don’t call me Artie.”

 

 

“Hey Artie, what did you want to be? When you were a child?”

“. . . I wanted to be a writer.” A pause. “And you?”

“Aw man, I’m living the dream now, actually! Being a hero, being a scientist… it’s all I could ever hope for.”

Arthur murmured something under his breath that Alfred should definitely not hear.

 

 

“I wonder where Matthew is now, and how he’s doing…”

“Who’s Matthew?”

“Oh—he’s my brother! From Canada.”

“I see.”

Arthur won’t ask today.

 

**════ ⋆★⋆ ════**

 

**Nine Months Before The End - July 23, 2XX9**

“Silent as always,” Arthur grumbled under his breath, glancing around him.

It was laughably easy to roam around; he was _sure_ that some officers would force wandering citizens away into the bunkers underground. It gave them a false sense of security. By the looks of it, however, most have already taken that decision into their own hands.

_Or maybe it doesn’t matter anymore._

His feet ached. The commute to the lab wasn’t far, but it was certainly a pain. At least it helped that there was no traffic in the deserted city; sometimes it felt like Arthur and Alfred were the only people on Earth left.

Rain or shine, Arthur persevered to visit the scientist; Alfred was insistent that he remained home, which irritated the Brit for some reason. Each time he insisted, Arthur refused.

Alfred had asked him once, “Why?”

He merely replied, “I like your company.”

Arthur dismissed the thought of the scientist beaming at that, red dusting his cheeks, and shook his head. He only wished the boy got more sleep; he often had bags under his eyes and walked like a zombie. Despite his obvious sleep deprivation, though, Alfred worked without complaint and chatted with Arthur as if he wasn’t going to collapse at any moment. Arthur would have never pegged him for a workaholic, but maybe things are different when you’re trying to save the world singlehandedly.

At that thought, he frowned and narrowly missed walking into a pole. He knew that Alfred was trying his best, but what are the odds? How could he possibly find the solution that no one else has found? As optimistic as the Brit would like to be—not that he was any good at it—the odds were against Alfred.

He had a realization a few days ago: he didn’t know Alfred. He knew that the boy’s first name was Alfred, full name Alfred F. Jones. Arthur knew he had a Canadian half-brother who had disappeared with everyone else underground; Arthur knew he was a good student and a star athlete back in his youth; and Arthur knew he’s a little bit of a slob, slightly disorganized, and known to be lazy, but his lab was kept in order as if he expected his coworkers to come back. He knew much about him.

At the same time, however, he didn’t really know him. He only really watched the boy slouch over a desk, writing formulas with his glasses lopsided and forgetting to turn on the light from the intensity of his focus. Arthur talked to him and Alfred could talk for miles on end, but they’ve never sat down— _truly_ sat down and chatted. Alfred’s just that busy.

And yet, Arthur—

He was startled that the commute was fairly quick today, with the entrance of the building in front of him already. He sighed as he pushed open the door. Another day closer to death, and everything on Earth would burn.

That sounded like fun.

He entered the lab at precisely 9:02 AM—such was routine—and he expected Alfred to already be over at the table, exhausted as usual. However, upon entry, Arthur found it empty.

 _The lights are on,_ Arthur noted, despite the lack of occupation. The papers were still on the Alfred’s desk, and he wasn’t one to leave them lying around. After all, they were his precious data and research—not that anyone but Arthur could touch it.  

As if right on cue, however, footsteps behind Arthur shuffled across the floor—the familiar scuffle of Alfred’s sneakers against the floor.

“Oh, good morning, Artie!” Alfred called cheerily as he approached. Arthur turned around and opened his mouth to respond, but he caught sight of Alfred’s hands roughened with work. The scientist blinked and quickly shoved them into the pockets of his coat. He continued. “It's so nice outside, but I can't get out much nowadays. That kinda makes me sad.”

“As long as you don't look at the abandoned gas stations then yes, it was very nice outside today,” Arthur deadpanned. He glanced at the boy's hands again, buried in pockets. He looked at Alfred. “What were you doing out?”

Alfred offered a smile. “Just enjoying the weather for a change.”  It didn't quite reach his eyes. “I don't get lotta chances to, you know? Let's go inside.”

Arthur dropped the subject. He didn't know much about Alfred F. Jones, and he _will_ get his answers—just not by pressuring him.

The day carried on as normal. The Brit had picked up one daring fantasy-romance novel at the empty bookstore, entertaining for its pure nonsense. Alfred sometimes asked him to read aloud.

“The sound of another person's voice—I wouldn't be able to hear it without you,” Arthur recalled Alfred saying.

Arthur happily recited verses and read to him.

At one point during the day, Arthur fell asleep with his face on the page he left on in his book. When he woke up, though, Alfred was already gone. Missing. The room was still lit, but the papers with data have been shoved away into a cabinet for another day.

The room was starkly absent—no boisterous laughter, no scratching of pencil or the shuffle of papers. Arthur's breathing. A pounding heart. That was all that existed in this space.

Silence.

Absence.

. . .

Why was his heart beating like crazy?

Arthur had to find Alfred.

“Alfred,” he called, to no response. The word sounded almost foreign in his tongue. His chest felt hollow.

He staggered to his feet, legs wobbly. He hobbled out the laboratory and into the unlit corridor to call out, “Alfred.”

Again, it was only met with silence.

Arthur walked steadily on, unsure of where he was going—hopefully to the direction of his friend, his _only_ friend. Arthur probably looked like a madman, repeating the name like a mantra, but he _needed_ him right now. He can’t be alone, he _can’t._

He trudged into the lobby with its skewed furniture and turned paintings (Arthur swore he fixed those a few days ago) and nearly tripped over his own feet to get to the door.

“Alfred-”

“Artie?”

He looked up from his shoes—he’d been concentrating on his footwork in the dark—to find the shadowy figure of Alfred F. Jones.

“Oh, were you looking for me? I was-”

He didn't know what compelled him—Insanity? Desperation? Both?—but Arthur pulled Alfred by the wrist and forward into an embrace. He enveloped himself in a near-pungent smell covered up by a scent of cologne, as if the man he was holding thought it a sufficient alternative to a bath. Not that he minded; this was _Alfred._ Alfred was warm; he was soft and welcoming and _good_ , everything Arthur wasn't. They were polar opposites, but he wanted to close the distance like magnets. He wasn't even concerned that Alfred wasn't embracing him back; he just wanted to cling on and never let go because-

Alfred threw an arm around Arthur and patted him on the back, _leaned into the touch._

“You're okay Arthur,” he whispered. “You're okay.”

Alfred never asked. Maybe Alfred already knew how lonely Arthur was, how much he actually starved for human contact for so long.

He didn't know how long they remained there on the floor, with Arthur holding on to his companion with a vice grip and Alfred soothing him, rubbing his back and muttering reassurements. They could have stayed there for minutes, hours, years, a _millennia—_ maybe even a second. Arthur had lost sense of time.

After a moment, he broke the silence.

“Do you know-” Arthur swallowed the lump in his throat, “-Do you know why I'm not with my family?”

_The alcohol stench adrift in the air, the collapsed bottles of the living room, the wailing of someone nearby—_

Alfred didn't say anything, but he did touch Arthur on the arm, which he took as his cue to continue.

“I don't have my parents anymore. I want to say I only have my brothers, but in their hearts, I . . . ” He shook his head. “My brothers loathe me—Oliver and Liam and . . . well. One of them's dead.”

 _—”You killed her, you_ killed _her—”_

Alfred shifted beneath him. “Should I ask?”

“Drunk driving accident.” The Brit took a shaky breath, buried his face into Alfred’s clothes until he turned away to speak. “He was behind the wheel.”

_—blood. There was blood. Why was there blood? Oh—_

“Oh.”

“I know you're curious why he was drinking.”

He sensed more than saw the nervous smile on Alfred's face. He always smiled to hide his embarrassment or pain. “That doesn't mean I should ask.”

“Just ask,” Arthur assured. He usually didn't tell anyone about his problems, but right now, he needed company more than he wanted to protect his pride and keep people away from him. Alfred was the only person for miles roaming on the surface of the Earth.

More than that, however, he trusted Alfred.

With another shaky breath, he continued.

“He couldn't handle losing his sister,” he replied. The word _sister_ tasted bitter. “He had me instead.”

— _”Bring Alice back, bring her back—”_

“You were traded for your sister and he didn't like that?” Alfred asked innocently.

Arthur clung on tighter, balling a fist in the boy’s shirt. “No. To my family, _she_ died. To me, she had never existed. I have always been me.”

For a moment, Alfred was completely still, as if he had a revelation. Arthur was afraid that he messed up, that he shouldn't have told him about the truth. All he could do was tighten his hold until he was almost suffocating the man. _Please don't go, like Scott did. Please don't go like Liam and Oliver—just because they don't love me. They loved Alice. Not me._

Alfred was still silent.

“I'm so sorr-”

“Oh my _God_ , Arthur, I'm-I really shouldn't have asked.” Alfred sounded broken, the words shattered. He finally enveloped Arthur fully into a hug. “I-I didn't know that happened to you, and I told you to _go home_ , I should've never left ya alone, and-”

Arthur held a hand over Alfred's mouth to silence him. “It's all in the past. Please don't cry, love.” He cringed at the endearment. Hopefully the American didn't hear it.

“I promise I'll be there for you when you sleep and when you wake up.” Alfred buried his face into the crook of Arthur's neck. “I swear.”

Arthur wanted to say _no, it's okay. You don't have to._ He wanted to be strong. He wanted to say he didn't want to be babied.

But pride be damned.

“Thank you” was all he could say.

 

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

 

“Why have you been disappearing outside, though?”

Alfred only smiled.

 

 

“Scott loved this book. He read it to me when I was younger.”

“Who was he? Before he died, I mean.”

“Obnoxious. Rough. Unforgiving.”

“Oh . . .”

“. . . but he cared about me. He beat up anyone who crossed me. He looked out for me.”

“He sounds . . . he sounded like a good person.”

“Yeah. And he was.”

 

 

“So… why the name Arthur?”

“It was the man who founded England. Also, King Arthur is fantastic.”

“You should read that aloud for me, next time.”

“I think I will.”

 

 

“You never asked me.”

“Never asked you what?”

“My dead name.”

“You're not comfortable with it, are you? And anyway, it's not your name. Not anymore. It's not you.”

“... Thank you.”

 

 

“So upon New Year's Day, when the service was done, the barons rode into the field, some to joust and some to tourney, and so it happened that Sir Ector, that had great livelihood about London . . .”

 

**════ ⋆★⋆ ════**

 

**5 months Before The End - November 27, 2XX9**

“I should warn you,” Arthur began. “I burn easily.”

“I brought a crap ton of sun lotion!”

“It's November.”

“Whatever!”

Alfred was a workaholic. He was fun-loving, but he never really took a break. Until now, that is, when he suggested that they go out to the beach.

What surprised Arthur more, however, was that the scientist was fully _prepared_ ; he had sun lotion, hats, mats, chairs, clothes and all the more. When did he have time to get all these?

He had even thrown on a few clothes on to the pile of preparations. Alfred wore a red Hawaiian shirt with its floral print, as well as blue shorts and a pair of sunglasses. He handed Arthur some clothes of a similar design, although they came in different colors.

Alfred caught him staring at the equipment and, as if reading his mind, said, “I got these from a nearby store when you went home one time.”

“What made you want to go out today out of all days, though?” Arthur asked.

Alfred closed his eyes for a moment before he turned to the older man. When he did that, Arthur wondered what he was thinking; at first glance, Alfred was an open book. At another, he was an open book in a different language.

“Just thought it would be more fun than staying cooped up in here for a change. At least just this once I can save the world another time.”

Arthur's heart ached. _Alfred was thinking about him_ . He actually wanted to go out and spend time with Arthur. With _Arthur._ He was even willing to set aside his cause for him! He knew how much Alfred cared about saving the world and being the hero.

So being able to be normal today . . . that was. That was nice.

“All right. Let's head on down.”

 

 

The walk to the beach was pleasant. Alfred cheerfully chattered on about the lovely weather (he probably didn't get out enough) and trivial matters. However, he _was_ right; the sun wasn't in a fussy mood and the skies were clear from clouds, giving way to a vivid blue ignorant to ruin.

Arthur wondered what it would look like if that sky was to be tainted in the darkness of smoke or bathed in holy light. It depended on whether Heaven or Hell was guilty for the death of life.

“We're finally here!”

Arthur's feet sunk into the sand, and he trekked through with great effort. Alfred ran towards the waters with unparalleled joy.

The beach was predictably deserted, although some objects had been left in the sand by its owners. Buildings remained intact, although they were not maintained for in more than half a year.

The good part was that the ocean was cleaner than before, virginal for the better half of the year. It glistened in the morning sunlight as the seagulls sang their song.

Alfred was already soaking in the water, drifting about with his cowlick dripping. “Artie, are you going to stay in the sand?” he yelled.

Arthur shook his head. “I told you, Alfred, I burn easily.” He ducked inside an umbrella and set out a mat for use.

Alfred pouted but continued to swim along the azure. Meanwhile, the other man got comfy in the shade and leaned back, busting his book open to some young adult story. It was a lovely day with a nice breeze to top it all off, and it _would_ have been a relaxing day.

Until _someone_ splashed water at him.

“Alfred, what the _bloody hell_? You ruined my book!” he spluttered. He lowered his dripping book only to find a devilish grin.

“Did you like that book?”

Arthur looked down at the text. “. . . Not really.”

Alfred laughed. “Join me, then!”

“No, I c-” Alfred interrupted Arthur with another splash his way. He shot to his feet. “Okay, that's _it_ you wanker, I'm going to kick your arse-”

Despite the heat, he dipped into the waters and fought an intense battle against Alfred, throwing water at one another and laughing. Arthur was completely soaked afterwards, shirt clinging on to him and shorts heavy.

However, after an hour of doing it, he collapsed into the sand, panting and gasping for air. Alfred smiled as he leaned over Arthur, evidently with a remainder of stamina left. “You tired, old man?”

“You shut your bloody mouth,” he answered, not unkindly. He reciprocated with a grin.

“I'm rusty too, actually. Hadn't had a proper workout in so long.” Alfred held up his arms. “See?”

What Arthur saw, however, was a body of the deities. He sighed; Alfred really _was_ out of his league. Not only was he smart and moral, but he was also _built._ He tried not to stare, but it was difficult not to.

Alfred extended a hand, which Arthur gratefully took to get back on his feet.

“Wanna get changed and just walk around?” Alfred suggested.

And so they did.

After changing, they laced hands with one another and walked along the shore. Arthur didn't know if he should interpret its meaning, but… his hand warmed his own. He liked the feeling.

“It's kinda nice that we're the only ones here,” Alfred admitted as they walked, swinging their arms. “I mean, it's not good that everyone is gone, but . . . I like being with you.”

Arthur fought a blush off his face. Should he read into this? Aren't all Americans overly-friendly? He was definitely overreacting. “Me too.”

He either went a little strong on that or Alfred noticed the slight break in his voice, as the American's gaze lingered on him for a moment longer than usual. Arthur turned his head to meet his stare, and Alfred only smiled, shook his head, and continued walking.

They spent the entire day at the beach. Arthur and Alfred took two breaks to go eat; Arthur insisted that he cooked for the first break, but since then, Alfred took the wheel. The Brit couldn't cook at all.

When they came back from lunch, they hunted for seashells. Alfred had spotted a particularly whole one, a conch shell which he held up to his ear as he listened for noise.

“I can hear the ocean,” Alfred muttered wondrously. “I guess we're not really alone, huh?”

Alfred's eyes glinted like the ocean in sunlight.

“No, we're not really alone,” said Arthur.

After dinner, they went their separate ways. Arthur didn't know if he should make a move, but Alfred didn't. Still, Arthur could see that he was disappointed in having to part hands.

Alfred walked him home.

“Thank you, Alfred.”

Alfred blinked at him. “Oh, no problem. This is not so far from the lab, really.”

 _You oblivious fool._ Arthur shook his head and turned to the boy. “No, I don't mean that. I mean, thank you. For taking the time to spend this day with me.” _I love you_ , he didn't say.

Alfred's eyes shined and he gave the widest grin yet. “No, thank you. For always coming by, even though it's boring just watching me work.” _I love you too._

They parted wordlessly. They'll be together again in time, but that didn't help them sleep better that night. Arthur slept with the conch shell in his hand.

 

**════ ⋆★⋆ ════**

 

Arthur fell asleep at the lab. He woke up with a blanket thrown over him.

 

 

“I've always wanted to get married, have three kids, and retire to Nebraska.”

“That's a nice dream.” Even though Arthur is bitter than he couldn't carry children. He wouldn't.

 

 

“I wonder what England looks like.”

“Moody. A little dark. At least in London.”

“Sounds great!”

 

**════ ⋆★⋆ ════**

 

**One Week Until The End - April 13, 2XX9**

It had been eleven months, but Arthur had never seen another soul except Alfred since then. He wasn't complaining, but it had been so long since he knew anyone except the American. He sometimes forgot that other people existed, that he lived a normal life up until nearly a year ago.

Alfred was always there when Arthur woke up and when he slept, as he promised before. Even if that meant he was asleep next to him, glasses askew as he snored into his arms, or if he was already animated and bouncing around the lab. He was always there.

Arthur had taken that for granted.

Just months ago, he was alone with his cat, Buttercup. Buttercup was always there at home to greet him when he came back from his visit, and when he slept overnight at the lab, he brought her to roam around. She was happy enough by herself.

Now, he's also with Alfred F. Jones, a scientist trying to save the world. He had the opportunity to be right next to him as Alfred displayed his determination, ingenuity and attention to detail up close. He was given the privilege to be near him, to talk to him. To hold hands with him. Arthur couldn't be happier.

He was in love. And it was the apocalypse.

It broke his heart to think that Alfred would never be given the chance to fully experience life until  . . .

Over lunch break, he broke the discussion.

“How is saving the world going?” Arthur asked.

Alfred strained a smile. “I'll find it. Soon.”

Arthur had watched Alfred take less breaks, push harder, and dismiss tears in his eyes as his frustration caught up. He never bemoaned fate, never complained, and never gave up. Alfred was so insistent on saving the world. Arthur loved him for it, but it was _ruining_ him.

He didn't want to hinder Alfred, and Arthur really _did_ want to help the rest of humanity. More importantly, though, Alfred's sanity was on the line; he may not be able to enjoy life before his last days. He could _die_ working fruitlessly.

Arthur couldn’t let that happen to him.

“It's okay.”

Alfred raised his eyebrows. “What?”

Arthur reached for Alfred's hand. “It's okay to give up,” Arthur said softly.

At that, Alfred frowned, staring at their joined fingers. He withdrew his hand. Arthur tried not to show his disappointment.

“I don't want to give up,” Alfred responded stubbornly. “I still have time.”

“It's good you're idealistic,” Arthur agreed. “But Alfred  . . . it's the last week. How can you be sure that you can save the world until then?”

He didn't mean to sound doubtful of Alfred, but Alfred took it that way. An expression of hurt flashed on his face before he shook his head, abruptly stood up to throw away his food, and stormed out the room. Arthur hastily threw away his own food and went after him.

“Wait, Alfred, where are you going?”

“I'm going out,” Alfred bit out as he strides away, not turning once to Arthur.

“Alfred, can you listen to me?” He tried to keep up, but he was past his prime.

Alfred shook his head. “Why? You clearly don't believe me-”

“I do believe in you!”

“-even though you've seen me working hard-”

“That's admirable, but please, Al, listen to me-”

“-so why are you even here?!”

“For you! You bloody idiot, I came here for _you!_ ”

Alfred stopped walking.

He didn't say anything for a moment, but Alfred slowly turned around.

His face was a mess of tears and wrinkles, although the man himself didn't notice this until he turned to Arthur and saw his piercing green eyes. He rubbed the expression away.

“Artie  . . . I'm just—God, I’m sorry. I  . . . I'm just stressed.”

“I know you are.”

“I just wanted to help.”

“I know you do.”

“Can I hug you?”

“Of course.”

Arthur didn't want Alfred to be sad, but he was glad that he was the one comforting him this time around. He hung on to the American boy as best as he could, having to stand on the tips of his toes to embrace him.

“I wanted to be a hero.” Alfred said against his neck.  “I wanted to save the world. And I can't.”

“I know you want to be one, Alfred.” Arthur smiled, drawing circles on his “friend’s” shoulders. “And you are mine.”

Alfred sobbed and laughed at the same time. “But there is _one thing_ . . .”

The Brit noticed that, after a while, Alfred had slept in his arms. Arthur brushed the golden locks away from the scientist's face, revealing the deep bags under his eyes. He slept so gently.

Arthur kissed him on the forehead. He wondered if that would be the last time.

 

**════ ⋆★⋆ ════**

 

Alfred slept for three days straight. He must've been incredibly sleep-deprived. They carried on as usual for two more days.

 

**════ ⋆★⋆ ════**

 

**Two Days Until The End - April 18, 2XX9**

Arthur Kirkland. A British man. Alone.

The world was going to die by meteor. Arthur didn't care for the longest time. For months, he could perish and he wouldn’t die with any regrets.

Only today, however, did he realize that he wanted to live.

He entered the lab, and once more, was surprised by Alfred. Instead of his usual white coat, he dressed into a leather jacket and loose jeans. He even combed his hair.

“Are you thinking of going somewhere?” Arthur asked, narrowing his eyes. Even when they were the only ones around, Alfred insisted that he dressed professionally, otherwise he “couldn’t get into the mood of working.” Still, the Brit was not against the boy dressing casually more often  . . . not at all.

“Yup!” He grinned up at the short man. “We're going on a date.”

“Pardon me . . . but _what_?” Arthur had never been more convinced that it was the end of the world until now.

“You heard me! Let's go to your place and watch a movie. My house is kinda messy since it's been really long since I've been there, but you still go home sometimes, so I thought it'd be nice there!”

Alfred beamed, but Arthur could notice underlying anxiety beneath his words. Arthur knows what it's like to hide insecurities behind a wall of pseudo-confidence.

“  . . .  A date,” Arthur said, testing the way the word felt in his mouth.

“You know the phrase, ‘I would never date you, even if we were the last people on Earth?’”

“. . . Yes.”

“Would you listen to my request, anyway?”

Arthur smirked.

 

 

 

While they walked, Alfred ogled at the passing scenery, exclaiming a remark or two whenever he passed by an empty gas station. He was even more appalled by the neighborhood that appeared like a ghost town.

However, they finally arrived at Arthur's doorstep, and he fumbled with his keys to unlock it. He opened the door and held it out for Alfred.

“Very chivalrous,” Alfred said jokingly, but—is that a hint of a blush on his face?

Arthur couldn't help but smirk to himself. “Are you embarrassed?”

The American realized his mistake and stepped inside hastily, toeing off his shoes. Arthur laughed behind him and followed.

“Well, sorta,” Alfred admitted as he walked further inside. He looked around, eyes cataloging the living room keenly as if he was trying to commit each detail to memory. “I mean  . . . I finally get to see your home! And well. Yeah. It's . . . very like you.”

Arthur trailed after Alfred as the boy observed the several cat items, books and furniture present in the room. He wrinkled his nose at the old television, but didn't comment on it.

“And what is like me?”

Alfred took the liberty to sit on the couch. “Very  . . . homey.” He leaned back, sinking deep into the cushion. He sighed happily. “Warm. Nice.”

It was Arthur's turn to blush. “Thanks.” He abruptly turned away and cleared his throat. “Anyway, I have a few movies on DVD that we can watch-”

“Oh my _God_ , you still have DVDs? You watch the _television,_ don’t you? In this day and age? You're _ancient_.”

Arthur glared at Alfred gaping at him like a fish.

“Hush, I only have a DVD player and not whatever  . . . video streaming mumbo jumbo people have nowadays, so this'll have to do.”

“Right.”

They rifled through Arthur's collection of DVDs. Alfred was excited for the action and horror selections, but Arthur was more into the fantasy genre. As they looked harder, Alfred bursted into laughter.

“Dude, you have  . . . you have _The Little Mermaid_!” He held up the cartridge with its fanciful cover.

Ah, yes, Arthur forgot he had that movie from his youth.

“You have a problem with it?” Arthur lifted his eyebrows. Alfred, however, shook his head.

“No, I love Disney movies!” Alfred said. He beamed and waved the disc around. “Let's watch this!”

And so they ended up watching a sorta cheesy, heartwarming movie about a mermaid in love with a human. Alfred was especially engrossed into it—cursing at Ursula, crying at moments, and shouting encouragement as Ariel went through her journey.

Arthur, meanwhile, was more entertained with watching Alfred and leaned on his shoulder. Alfred didn't move away, even _reached_ for Arthur's hand to squeeze it. They really were on a date.

So this was happiness.

“Oh man, I loved this movie,” Alfred said after he cried again at the prince's failure to “kiss the girl” in the boat ride. “I thought it was lame at first, but I had this huge crush on a girl called Ariel. When she rejected me, I was pretty inconsolable for a few days and watched this because it reminded me of her.” He sniffed.

 _A girl_  . . .

That floated in Arthur’s mind for a while.

The movie continue to rolled and Alfred continued with his violent reactions, but Arthur wasn't paying attention.

_Is Alfred straight?_

It's quite possible that Arthur was panicking about whether or not the person he loved was _gay_ when he should be worrying about the world dying. He really was hopeless.

And he needed to know.

The world was going to die in two days. He might as well commit social suicide now.

“A girl?” Arthur finally asked, trying to sound nonchalant. “You only like girls?”

Alfred's eyes widened as turned to Arthur. “Oh, um.” He then turned away. “I mean  . . . I like anyone.”

Arthur couldn't help but smile at that, and luckily, Alfred was too shy to face him properly as he admitted this fact. _He's adorable_ , Arthur thought as he saw Alfred's red ears through his blond hair.

Alfred interlaced fingers with Arthur's own, and Arthur's heart was fuller. “Do you  . . . do you like dudes as well?”

“. . . They're not so bad.”

They paused, the movie filling in the silence from the background. The two of them remained oblivious to the noise.

“Is  . . . is this an actual date?” Arthur blurted out.

“. . . If you want it to be.”

“Y  . . . yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Are we  . . . are we together now?”

“If you want to be.”

“Okay, cool.”

“Yes.”

The movie was reaching its climax.

Alfred finally turned to face Arthur, red in the face and adoration in his eyes. Arthur wanted to shy away from such obvious . . . obvious—

Obvious love.

He stared back instead, taking a breath and clenching his jaw.

“That would be lovely,” Arthur muttered.

Alfred cupped his pale cheeks. They felt warm. He last saw Alfred's eyes flutter close as they leaned in and—ever so slightly—pressed their lips onto one another’s.

There were no fireworks, no fanfare; just a back and forth, reciprocation, soft touches and wandering hands. He could taste all the unsaid words Alfred kept in his mouth, and Arthur wondered how many _I love you's_ he had revealed to the boy with one kiss. An infinity, he assumed.

They lingered as they parted. Arthur opened his eyes and gazed into Alfred's.

“Your eyes are like stars,” Arthur thought absentmindedly with the way the lights shone on them. He could see himself reflected in blue. He was pleased to feel Alfred's breath against his cheek as he laughed.

“Very romantic! Considered me seduced.” Almost immediately, Alfred jumped. “I just had the greatest idea, Artie!”

Arthur leaned away to look at Alfred's face as a whole. “And what, pray tell, do you have in mind?”

“A secret!” Alfred winked. He shot off the couch and pointed up the stairs. “Go upstairs or something, I have to prepare for it!”

Seeing such childish excitement in a grown man startled a laugh out of him. Arthur couldn't refuse Alfred even if he wanted to, although he wasn't sure of what he was scheming. “All right, but don't do anything dangerous, love.” He placed a small peck on Alfred's cheek one last time and retired upstairs to his room.

He ended up staying in his room for the whole afternoon. He had to entertain himself inside by rereading a few classics as Alfred continued to shuffle downstairs.

As the day had turned to deep night, the knock on his door came.

“Arthur, come out to the patio! I'm ready!” Alfred yelled.

At that, Arthur slowly opened the door to find that Alfred had already raced downstairs and to the patio. _What could he possibly be planning?_ Arthur thought fondly as he shook his head.

When was the last time that someone did something nice for him? Francis handing him the stapler when he asked for it instead of stapling his hand?

He went downstairs.

 _Music._ There was music playing in his backyard.

When he slid the glass door open, he nearly tripped.

Fairy lights hung around the walls and fence as a nearby stereo played some romantic song nearby. Alfred in the corner beamed and rushed over to him.

“Do you like it?” Alfred asked, his eyes brighter than the fairy lights illuminating the night.

“I love it,” I love you. Alfred reddened, pleased. He extended a hand.

“May I have a dance with one Mr. Kirkland?”

He pressed a hand to the American's. “With pleasure.”

Neither of them knew how to slow dance well, but Arthur had a bit of practice from his youth and Alfred was a natural. They sometimes stepped on each other's shoes and burst into laughter, drowned out only by the blast of music and the cicada's call. However, most times, Arthur looked at Alfred, trying to memorize every feature of his face—his dimples, his eyes, the shape of his nose and the curve of his mouth, a light shining on one side. He wanted to see that same face for the rest of his life.

Even if the rest of his life meant less than 48 hours.

Staring into Alfred's eyes, he knew that it was mutual.

He breathed in the scent of grass. He never felt more complete than when he leaned on Alfred’s chest and closed his eyes.

They were exhausted when they finished, the hour late. Alfred professed that he wanted to spend one more night with Arthur, so they both retired to the bedroom.

They were like a married couple with a set routine; they moved around the room with ease, a familiarity only those who have been together for most of their lives could exercise. Perhaps it’s due to the fact that Alfred was the only person Arthur knew for a whole year and vice versa. Perhaps it’s their chemistry all along. Perhaps it’s the fact that the world was ending and they were being connecting with one another before they died. Perhaps.

They clambered into bed.

“Hey Arthur,” Alfred asked as the Brit was about to turn off the lamp. “What do you think?”

“Of what?” He flickered off the lamp.

“The world ending.”

Arthur sunk back down into the bed and rolled over to face Alfred next to him, staring up at the ceiling.

He didn’t know the answer to that. Only a few months ago, he was numb to the fact that the world was going to end. He wouldn’t have care if it did.

Now, however, he had a reason to live. He had Alfred F. Jones, the love of his life, the man who could put up with him everyday for a year. He had a reason to be alive, to breathe oxygen in and to breathe carbon dioxide out.

And yet . . .

“I’m just glad that I met you.”

Alfred smiled. Beneath the covers, he searched for his hand and they intertwined fingers.

“Me too.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Arthur pulled his new boyfriend—lover? Partner? Soulmate?—in for a kiss. He could feel Alfred smile as they pressed their lips onto one another's, which caused Arthur to reciprocate the grin.

As they continued, the kiss grew more friction and heat, the intensity and passion exchanged between them increasing exponentially. They gradually introduced tongues and Arthur was pleasantly surprised to be able to explore another part of the American.

However, Alfred pulled away after a while, causing the Brit to whine and push him into another one again.

“Arthur,” Alfred said, breathless. He placed a kiss on to Arthur's palm. His hazy eyes made Arthur shudder. “Can I have this night with you?”

Arthur's heart swelled. Alfred was making sure that he wanted this. “Make the world disappear, love.”

Before he could fully verbalize the word, Alfred already swooped in for another kiss. They were hungry, starved of affection and desperate for it. They _needed_ each other, needed to touch one another and to be touched. The two only grew more desperate at the thought that this was the last time that they would have this, that this was where their romantic endeavors began and ended.

Why didn't they do this sooner?

That night, Alfred upheld his promise; for a few blissful moments, Arthur forgot about the world. Arthur forgot about the inevitable pain and the futility of his ending. Arthur forgot about his insecurities with his body and allowed himself to let go. He only knew, only worshipped love and pleasure as he sunk into the nothingness of bliss. That night, Arthur and Alfred were inseparable.

Arthur had hoped that they would never leave one another, that they'd spend the rest of their life together.

Although Alfred was a careful, attentive lover that night, Arthur didn't comment why his hands were rough.

 

**════ ⋆★⋆ ════**

 

**24 Hours Until the End - April 19, 2XX9**

_“In only one year—” the newscaster began. They paused, took a deep breath. “—in one year, the world will cease to exist.”_

That was what the TV said, a year ago. That time has come.

Arthur stared at Alfred's sleeping face, marveling in how gentle it appeared, illuminated by the bars of sunlight through the window blinds. He couldn't help but smile at the sight. Buttercup had crawled into his arms in the middle of the night, meowing in interest at the new man in Arthur's bed.

He kissed the boy's forehead.

So that was it—the world was going to end. No fanfare, no mourning—just a silent death for all. It wasn’t nuclear warfare, aliens, or even the animated corpses of dinosaurs to ravage humankind.

It was a meteor.

He yawned, glancing over to the window outside. The sky was as clear and virginal as the first time he had seen it when he heard of the news. It was better that way, at least in Arthur's opinion. It lived a cloudless life.

Arthur couldn't relate.

However, for the first time in his life, he had a purpose—a real one. It wasn't about pleasing his family, or becoming a great literary giant. In his heart, they didn't matter—at least not enough to make him beg for life again. He had a purpose, and that was to live with Alfred, to experience what normal couples do and grow old. Why must he dream of the unreal?

And, for the first time of his life, Arthur wasn't alone. He had someone else to call home, someone he could trust and love without fear of being hurt. Sure, he had friends and family, but he never felt for them in such a way that he did for Alfred.

The birds sang outside his window, innocent.

“We're just going to stay in, Buttercup,” Arthur told his cat as he scratched behind her ear. She meowed nonchalantly and jumped off the bed to do her business.

He leaned back on the bed, content as he held hands with Alfred.

For the first time, he wanted to live.

 

 

 

Arthur woke up again with a peck on the cheek.

“Rise and shine, Artie! Our anniversary is soon!” Alfred said, oddly cheerily as he shook the British man.

Arthur swatted at the golden boy. “Don't make such jokes so early in the morning,” he grumbled into his pillow.

“Can't wait to die.”

This time, Arthur actually landed a slap on Alfred's face.

That was how the majority of their day went. The two of them never once separated, having to go everywhere chained to the other, not that they minded. In fact, it was better that way, for them. Most of the time, the two boys just laid in bed and talked about nothing important.

“I still have the conch shell that you gave me,” Arthur recalled.

Alfred eyes shone. “You do?”

He nodded and turned to the bedside table. He opened the drawer, revealing the memento inside. Alfred sobbed and chuckled at the sight.

Arthur used it to help him sleep at night. Sometimes he couldn't when Alfred wasn't near, when he thought about his family or his insecurities, and when he couldn't simply for the sake of it. Yet, he never stayed up because he was afraid of dying.

 _That makes me a bit crazy,_ Arthur thought. He passed it over to Alfred.

Alfred held the conch up to his ear, eyes fluttering close as he listened for the noise. Gradually, his face lightened. He sighed and put it on the table at his side.

“The ocean is so full of life,” he murmured. “I don't think we're alone at all.”

 _I'm not alone because of you_ , Arthur thought as he processed how content he felt now, in the arms of his love.

“What do you think happened to your brother?” Arthur asked as he traced patterns on Alfred's skin absentmindedly.

“Matthew?” Alfred said. “He'll be fine. He has a boyfriend, yanno. I'm sure they would have married one another.”

“He swings that way, too?”

Alfred grinned. “We really are brothers!” Arthur huffed out a laugh in response. “What about your brothers in England, Artie? I mean . . . I know what happened, but I'm sure they miss you.”

_Scott in heaven, have you ever forgiven me? Liam, Oliver—have you forgiven me?_

“I think they do.” Arthur sunk his head onto his boyfriend's side and pulled the blanket closer. “But… we will reunite, if the afterlife exists.”

Alfred fell silent at that. He merely ran his fingers through the sullen man's locks. This was nice.

All they had in bed was time and each other. Arthur's head was swirling with thoughts, thought that he hadn't touched until this very day when the world was supposed to end.

“So… you've given up on saving the world?” Arthur asked. He thought he knew the answer—which was _yes, of course, why else am I here with you?_ —

“No.”

“... No?” Arthur furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Either Alfred was in heated self-denial, or he genuinely found a solution—which he should have known about earlier. Arthur has been with him all the time, since day one.

“Yes, no.”

“... how?”

Alfred's face returned to its look of concentration,  an expression he only affected when he was thinking about his work. Arthur shuddered at the sight.

“... Arthur, I want to show you something.”

“Is this your… solution to saving the world?”

“Perhaps so.”

Alfred grabbed the conch shell.

 

 

It was bright and cheery outside. If Arthur was an outsider, he wouldn't have guessed that the apocalypse was upon them, the lives of everyone on the planet death-marked.

A nice breeze drifted in the air to cool the heat—summer was nearby, but unreachable—and the flowers were still in bloom. The wind carried pollen and flowery scents, fresh in Arthur's lungs as he followed Alfred.

He caught sight of the familiar white building, where Alfred's laboratory was at. However, Alfred didn't go inside; instead, he went around the sides and continued on.

Behind the white building was a tall platform, a makeshift launch pad, Arthur assumed. On top of the platform was a seemingly-circular object placed under covers.

When was this here?

“Alfred… what is this?”

He looked over to Alfred. Alfred was smiling, but it wasn't the one Arthur remembered. That smile did not belong to him.

“This-” Alfred pointed to the covered object, “-this is how I save the world.”

“What is it?”

“I'll show you.”

They clambered up the stairs, the transition wobbly and unsettling. The platform creaked and sway with each step Arthur made as he walked on the platform, approaching the mysterious object.

Alfred followed closely after, a shaky affair but a successful one nevertheless. He picked up the edge of the covers and, with a deep breath, tossed it away.

Unveiled was a machine—a vehicle. The front was a transparent entrance while the rest were solid and tough.

“Is this a spacecraft?” Arthur said incredulously. “A small one, too.”

“Yes,” Alfred answered curtly. He walked over to the glass entrance, pulled out a remote and pressed a button, causing the glass entrance to slide open. It was rather small inside, with a seat and converging wires on all sides.

He crossed his arms. “... you know there are seven billion people on Earth, right?”

“You're right.” Alfred nodded, stepped away from the ship and placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder.

“Then how will you do it?” he turned around to face the scientist who disappeared behind him.

However, instead of an answer, Alfred merely pulled out the conch shell and pressed it into Arthur's palm. His conch shell?

Arthur opened his mouth to speak when pair of hands shoved him forward, launching him inside. He made to rise from the seat, but ran into a glass barrier instead. He shook his head to shrug off the impact.

“Alfred?” Arthur banged on the glass. “Alfred, what in the bloody hell are you doing?! Get me out of here!”

His heart plummeted in his chest when Alfred did not budge. Instead, behind the transparent wall, his boyfriend mouthed words that he didn't recognize. He took his remote and tapped on another button. A pneumatic hiss sounded behind Arthur.

Arthur groped around inside in confusion, only succeeding in touching thick tubes and wires. However, he jolted at the realization that it was releasing gas—a gas that was causing him to… fall asleep…

He couldn’t possibly—surely—Alfred wasn’t thinking of sending him away to . . . ?

It all made sense, now; the times Alfred disappeared outside, only to come back with his hands blistered and glistened in sweat. Alfred had shifted gears nine months ago, realized already that the world was impossible… and yet he couldn’t resist being _someone’s_ hero.

He was obsessed with being a martyr.

“Alfred, please,” he mouthed. The haziness of his vision caused by his lightheadedness only worsened with the blurriness of his tears.

Alfred only smiled, turned away to stare up at the sky. Two skies stared at one another.

He was beautiful, bathed in sunlight.

That was the last time Arthur ever saw him.

* * *

 

**???**

Soft white. Blocky blue. Linear green.

Arthur was in his room, as usual. The shelves were haphazardly organized, books sticking out and placed on top of one another. The rain continued outside his window, a soft, rhythmic _pitter patter_ to the beat of his heart.

It was peaceful, tranquil.

Yet, it was lonely.

His bed was made for one person; it had a pillow of some design which he felt attached to: red, blue, and white. The covers were of his favorite color—green—and neatly made, reminiscent of his cleanliness nature.

Still, he can't help but feel that there was something, _someone_ missing.

He explored worlds sometimes. He could imagine anything, and it would come to life in a symphony of lines and blocks that formed a scene. In them, Arthur searched for memories—memories of a past life, a life that he could not remember. He trekked snowy landscapes, the lifeless terrains, imaginary spaces and thick greenery.

Through all of it, he had a few favorites—with the simplest being a playground. His mind replayed laughter, weeping, children in the playground, the call of a cat. The man could almost trace back the memories, but he lost grasp of it after a moment.

The second were dreary streets of some unnamed country where it rained constantly. He knew it to be a distant, early memory, but childhood stuck with him.

His third favorite would be underwater, down under the sea with its mysterious depths and its endlessness. Sometimes he thought he imagined the flick of a tail of some mythical creature, red hair trailing after, but he probably hallucinated. Arthur did find a trove of trinkets underneath once, though.

However, the boy's utmost favorite was the beach. The sandy golden grains, the azure blue, the pure bright sky—for some reason, he found all of those incredibly fascinating. The warmth of the sun was almost comforting, as if it was a hug, an embrace of another person. He can't recall their name.

In this scene, he could dream the blond, blue-eyed man with the hair of golden grains and the eyes of the sea and sky, wearing a smile unrivaled by the sun. Arthur knew he was significant somehow, and that this place was, too—he had a conch shell in his possession, the only other item which remained a constant throughout the worlds than a tablet.

Yet, that memory was locked away in his mind, tucked into the corners where it can remain untouched and protected.

Arthur smiled as he traced the lines of the conch shell, recalling the hazy figure in his mind. Somehow, he felt that he wasn't truly alone; he could hold the shell near his ear and hear the workings of life beyond him. He could even hear the boisterous laughter of someone he loved. It was his favorite sound.

Even though there was no one else around, somehow, Arthur wasn't alone.

He could sleep peacefully at the thought of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for having read all up to here. The song "Shelter" by Porter Robinson, one of my favorite music producers, clearly inspired this fic! Please check out that song if you haven't, although I'm 100% sure that most of the Internet has.
> 
> I also hope Parker had a good time reading this.
> 
> Sorry if you guys were disappointed with the ending. I was very tempted to write a happier one that ended with both of them either saving the world or being in space together forever with one another, but... I don't know, I thought the theme of the story would be better reinforced if one of them was alone, which was a very obvious, running theme throughout. I didn't want to do this to Alfred either, he's my baby and I love him. :(
> 
> However, I hope this touches you somehow. I'm not particularly proud of this piece, but here it is for the world.
> 
> Some notes:  
> \- Arthur did move to the States with his father and left his brothers behind in England, but he regularly visited them and were close to them. He even studied in England before he came back to America, although he stopped visiting altogether after he came out to his family back home.  
> \- Alfred was aggravated that Arthur didn't have any belief in him even though he stopped working to save the world very early on. This is due to the fact that the poor boy was still pretty hung up on it, especially with his hero complex. Still, he realized that he wanted to save Arthur because he was the only one around and genuinely cared for him. Also, be someone's hero if not the whole world's!
> 
> I feel like I should explain more, but many of the motivations of the characters can be inferred and/or are heavily implied (ie. Alfred always insisted Arthur go home because he thought the man was wasting his time just being around the lab, hence why he wanted to bring him out for a day at the beach).
> 
> Love you guys. <3 Thank you for joining me on this ride!
> 
> (Also, consider following me on @mysthicryder, my main, or @aph-americandream, my writing blog!)


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